


The Golden Age of Something Good and Right and Real

by Darkmagyk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Godswood, Magic, Post-War for the Dawn, Weddings, Winterfell, weird magical connections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 10:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15683805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkmagyk/pseuds/Darkmagyk
Summary: Daenerys goes to Winterfell for a wedding, and leaves with something very unexpected.





	The Golden Age of Something Good and Right and Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/gifts).



> For Kingsnow who suggested Bran/Dany as a ship and also is an awesome person.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's "State of Grace"

It was a bad idea.

She knew that.

Had known it the entire time.

He was six years younger than she was.

His childhood had been even more unconventional than her’s.

And the reason they were here in Winterfell together was the very reason it was impractical.

His sister was marrying her nephew. 

Sansa Stark and Aemon Targaryen would join two great houses with their marriage.

And honestly, it could be argued that was already repetitive, and that the joining had taken place many years before, and her nephew was the result of that joining.

House Stark needs to strengthen its ties within the North, and House Targaryen must make peace with her allies in the south.

Sansa Stark was a clever woman, and had woven a web so Dany agreed with the marriage between the cousins. A love match disguised as a political alliance by one of the finest politicians in Westeros. Dany had never minded the idea of bringing Sansa Stark closer into her fold.

But that was before she’d gotten to Winterfell.

Men fell all over themselves for her. They long had. And she’d let them, choosing ones she’d liked and using them how she needed.

Oh, certainly, Jon had turned away from her the second he had not felt so bad about lusting after his sister. Dario was lost to her when she left Essos. Drogo died on her.

But there were always other men and women eager for the Mother of Dragon’s favor and her bed.

Lord Stark wanted neither.

She had met him before, during the war. A strange wizard then, more boy than man. And yet even then she’d been struck by him. He had a magical aura about him that sang to her own.

And unlike his cousin, who was not lacking of the magic, he was not cursed with harsh Northern looks. Jon, in addition to refusing his Targaryen name, did not even have the classic features.

She’d been struck by him then.

But now, three years later, in this peaceful spring, he is something even more.

His magical aura had not faded. And his beautiful Southern looks, Tully, she’s told, auburn hair and blue eyes, seem to have grown with him.

He sat in a high back chair with large wheels still, but his presence took up the entire room. It was a wonder anyone managed to pay attention to the happy couple. And when calls for the bedding took place, Dany found herself next to him.

“You keep a great hall, Lord Stark.” She said to him, across the emptied chairs as the center of the table.

“I am glad it meets your needs, Your Grace.” He said. “I am glad that you found Winterfell fitting for a royal wedding.”

“My nephew was very specific that it should be held here.” It was at least big enough, though Dany thought it bare and lacking real grandeur. It had been the seat of King’s once, but not King’s like this great Lord before him, handsome and proud and special.

Kings like her unfortunate nephew, northern looks, dower countenance, a tendency away from the pleasures of life. The magic that surrounded them not the spectacular flash of fire of dragons, but the cruel darkness of wolves.

Jon had told her once that the savages from the North called those with red hair kissed by fire. He had been waxing poetically, as far as his skills would allow, about Lady Sansa, but the same applied to her brother.

Brandon Stark was full of fire and life. She hated that he had to stay up here in the cold bleakness of winter. Even in the supposed spring, white snow covers the grounds outside. His fire would be wonderful beside her in the Red Keep.

It was a bad idea to dream of such things.

“I am glad to have the chance to visit again,” She said, and Lord Brandon smiled.

“I was so pleased to host you again.” He said, “We have missed our Queen.”

The people in the North did not welcome at her with open arms, but Lord Stark did. “Your sister seemed happy,” She offered, trying not to think about the separatists who might be filling this very room.

“She’s only ever wanted to marry a prince.” Lord Stark said with a smile. “And Jon is far better than the Lannister bastard ever was.”

Dany laughed, but she could not help but feel bad for poor Lady Sansa, who had dreamed of southern princes. She had told the Queen that herself, and then sighed over Jon in what seemed like happiness. Though Jon might be a great hero with new songs being written about him every day and a Valyrian prince by blood, the cold North had seeped into his bones. Dany hoped that would not disappoint the sweet Lady who had already been through so much when it became more and more apparent.

Jon was often awkward and closed off in the Capital. His was better here, in Winterfell, and better still with his Lady on his arm. But even tonight, after his wedding, he’d looked out of place dancing with his wife. And he’d looked outright sick as he’d been carried off for the bedding. Not exactly the picture of a man who was about to bed a beautiful woman for the first time.

Brandon Stark never looked awkward in his dark wood chair and gray velvet. The Lord of Riverrun, his uncle, shared his Tully looks, and he was never so commanding. He sat at the end of the very high table Dany now shared with Lord Stark, and looked as dower as the remaining Northmen, well in his cups but not joining the bedding. He had mentioned in passing he did not like weddings.

The feast faded around them, and when it was time to be parted, Lord Stark looked only regrettable, “I wish I could walk you to your room, my lady, but that is beyond me. So I’ll bid you goodnight.” Then a few of his manservants wheeled him away.

She laid in bed that night and kissed her handmaiden, a cousin of the main Estermont line, a pretty thing of eight and ten. She was eager but unskilled. It made her miss Irri. Irri would have been a proper distraction. But instead, as her bed mate rubbed, all Dany could think of were Brandon Stark’s kind blue eyes.

They followed her into her dreams.

The next morning the entire castle seemed the nurse a headache from the previous night’s ale and wine, and only the sober Lord Stark seemed happy to see her, while the newlyweds did not even bother to make an appearance when everyone else broke their fast.

He spoke of the North and its rebuilding efforts. And when the meal was done, he asked if he could show her anything in the castle. She had been so wrapped up in the wedding since she’d arrived that she had not had a chance to really experience it.

Lord Stark could move himself under his own power on ground levels, and he showed her the grounds. The repaired glass gardens and the hot springs. With the help of a servant he managed to make it into the crypts, and showed off the statues of the aunt who stole her older brother’s heart, and his father, who nobley protected the last heir of House Targaryen left in Westeros.

Last, he led her to the godswood. The red of the face in the pale tree was comforting. It reminded her of the fire of her family, the fire of Lord Stark’s hair.

“I know it meant a great deal to Jon and Sansa that you allowed them to be married in the godswood instead of a sept.” He said. “And to me as well, thank you.”

“I was happy to agree,” She said, and the truth was it made no difference. She’s heard Lords mock the Northerners for worshiping trees, but Dany knew that the Weirwoods at least had their own kind of magic, and the fires of R’hllor had more. But what had the seven pointed star ever done for anyone. The red leaves rustling in the trees looked like Drogon’s flames. She glanced to Brandon, and saw his eyes staring up too.

“I found the godswood wedding refreshing,” Dany said instead, “And short. The ones in the Sept are so complicated and drawn out.”

Brandon nodded. “I have not actually been to a southern wedding,” He agreed, “But they are not popular in my family. I like ours.”

The specter of the wedding that had killed Brandon’s mother and unfortunate pretender of a brother still lay heavily around them all.

He reached out then, and put a pale hand on the pale bark, and she watched the shift in his eyes.

She had heard from Jon about his strange power before, to see through time and space, she had even relied on it herself during their great war but never had she seen it in action. The magic that always seemed to surround him soaked into the very air, and she drank it in for many long minutes, until he let go, and turned back to her.

“I can see many weddings,” He told her. Lady Sansa had even mentioned he’d seen Lady Lyanna and Rhaeagr’s wedding on the Isle of Faces. “Yesterday’s was my favorite. A new dawn, I think. A dream for this beautiful spring.”

She had to leave him then. His words were too beautiful, he promises too hope filled.

Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, a magic boy and a good man, was everything Dany had never quiet knew she wanted.

And she knew it could not be.

With Jon and Sansa indisposed, she made do with socializing with the rest of Westeros’s nobles, and made a point to see what southern Lords were embracing the simplicities of the North and the hospitality of the Starks, and which looked down their noses at everything.

Dany had walked through a desert, dying of thirst, she has ridden into battle with the Starks, and seen Jon trek through the frozen land to save the world and she would not have her bannermen be pampered lordlings who will not support her through what might come next.

She saw Brandon as supper, but spoke mostly to Lord Tully and Lord Arryn, while Lord Stark was speaking to his sister. The Prince and his new Princess continued to not make an appearance.

She retired early and laid fitfully in her spacious quarters, twisting and turning and thinking.

This castle was old. Far older than the home she’s made in the south. And the remaining Starks filled it with a lively heart.

She’d dismissed her bed maid earlier. It was no use, and she had thought she wanted to be alone.

But she was alone so much.

Sleep was not for her, so she got up and put on her boots, warm ones even in spring, and her dressing gown and a cloak.

She slipped out of the guest keep and into the heart of Winterfell. The godswood.

Lady Sansa had told her once that during her captivity, she often retreated to the godswoods for solitude, and Jon had said the old gods looked back through the face in the tree.

She could be alone there but not.

Or not.

She saw the chair first. And knew only one in Winterfell used such a thing.

“Lord Stark,” She said, apologetically, looking at him in the moonlight, “I did not think to find anyone here.”

“Nor did I, your grace,” He agreed, “I have been meaning to ask, your Grace, if it pleases you, to please call me Bran.”

“If you will call me Dany.” She offered with a smile.

They wait for a very long time together in the moonlight, looking at the heart tree.

“Do you like it here?” Bran asked, after what must have been an hour. He breaks the comfortable silence, but his voice was smooth and calming.

“I like the company.” Dany replied, reaching out for his hand.

In southern marriages, there are prayer and hymns seven times over. In southern marriages, a septon must declare it so.

But in the North they need only the couple and the heart tree.

“Who comes before the old Gods to be wed?” Bran said. And Dany nearly lost her breath.

“Daenerys of House Targaryen.” She said, “Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And…” she looked expectant.

“Brandon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell.”

They stared at the tree together. And with Brandon Stark, she pledged her love for the rest of her life to this amazing man.

He reached out and brushed her hand on the tree, and suddenly the world is open to her. The entire world flowed around her, a million weddings, births, deaths, all the rites taken before the old gods. All the history performed before the heart trees.

It reminded her of flying. Of watching a sacred fire.

It was more intimate then if he had spilled his seed within her, deeper than if they came together, greater than if his babe were to quicken in her womb.

Her husband and herself. Three times charmed

***

It was nearly a week later when the Prince of Dragonstone and his new bride were able to pull themselves away from each other to properly see the Lord of Winterfell and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

And even then Jon did not wish to let go of Sansa’s hand. He was not sure what to think about the fact that Bran did not seem to want to let Daenerys’s hand either.

They sat around the small breakfast table in the Lord’s solar. Jon had at least trained himself to not think of it as Father’s, but it was still hard to think of it as Bran’s. It was hard to think of Bran as Lord Stark. And regardless of what he might say aloud, the mental prowess it would take to stop thinking of Ned Stark as his father in the deep recesses of his soul were beyond him.

He had enough sense to not tell his aunt that, though he was happy to have no secrets between himself and his new wife. At least one his side. Sometimes Sansa would give him a smile that he was sure meant she was thinking secret thoughts. But it was too perfect a smile for him to mind. Sansa was too perfect a person to resent about anything. And she’d shared her most important secret with him last night.

Thought the way Bran and Daenerys kept sharing a glance made him think that they too had a secret.

After the servants had cleared away the plates, Bran had let out a deep sigh and looked at Daenerys significantly. She nodded, and Sansa smiled, squeezing the entwined hand that rested on his knee.

“We wished to speak with you,” Bran said, “About a...change of plans.”

Jon could feel his frown grow, but Sansa just squeezed his hand again.

“Change of plans?” He asked, regardless.

“Yes,” Daenerys nodded, “How would you and Sansa feel about remaining in Winterfell instead of returning to King’s Landing with me?”

The warning squeeze from Sansa was unnecessary. Jon knew better then to shout in joy that he never wished to leave Winterfell, and he’d happily never subject himself or his wife, _his wife,_ to the King’s Landing ever again.

“What for?” Sansa asked, her eyes all wide curiosity, but the corners of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

“I would like,” Bran cleared his throat and started again “That is, _we_ would like for you two to say here, and keep Winterfell.”

“Where will you go?” Jon asked, because where in the world would Bran rather be, than their home, then his castle. 

“He’ll be accompanying me home.” Daenerys said. “And I am not sure when exactly we’ll want him to return.”

Jon would have choked on his food if there was any left.

“That’s wonderful.” Sansa cut in, before he could ask why.

“Yes,” Daenerys said with a smile he’d never seen before. “Yes it is.”

They left a fortnight later. Bran did not even take a full household, because he planned to merge with the Queens.

“I wonder if she intends to announce an engagement.” Sansa mused from as they watched the dragon and direwolf banners ride away.

Before his wedding, Jon would not have believed it even a possibility, but now…”Between you and I...and me, isn’t another Stark/Targaryen match poor strategy?”

Jon would never have Sansa’s keen Southern political insights, but he wasn’t completely lacking in political aptitude. The peace with the Wildlings was proof enough of that

“Perhaps they won’t,” Sansa agreed. “She might dangle her hand forever, and simply keep her new...friend by her side.”

“Well, if that leaves us here, I won’t complain,” Jon promised, because he could think of nowhere on earth he’d rather be, “though I can’t be sure what they are.”

“They are a pact of Ice and Fire, I should think.” Sansa said with a grin.

“Then what are we?” He asked. So many pacts of Ice and Fire. Rhaegar and Lyanna, Sansa and Aemon, and now Daenerys and Brandon too. Perhaps interest was owed due to the Stark’s long wait, and all the horrors that had befallen them in the meantime.

“A pack surviving.” Sansa said, curling into him more fully, allowing his cloak to fall around her shoulders, before taking their grasped hands and resting it on her stomach. “Besides, they don’t really know how to rule Westeros and they can’t have children so…”

He turned to face her fully then, searching her face.

“So our children will inherit, we knew that already.” It had been part of their own marriage negotiations.

“Yes,” Sansa hummed, like when she knew a secret she was going to share, but wanted to tease him with first. She’d done it about the babe.

“Did you know about them?”

“I knew Bran thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen,” He opened his mouth and she brought her free hand to it, silencing him with a finger, “Don’t you start, I’m his sister, and _he_ isn’t a Targaryen, so that doesn’t hold any appeal. She is in love with myths and magics, power and individuality. There is no one unique then our brother. I knew it would make them both happy.” She lowered their voice, “And perhaps...distracted.” 

“Distracted from...what?” Jon said a moment before her meaning came to him. He laughed, a full, hearty thing, “I can’t believe you’ve managed to get us Winterfell and the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Well I did,” She smiled, “And we get to take care of the south mostly via raven. Or perhaps even through that odd trick with the direwolves.”

“But we’ll be in these Walls,” Jon said and he brought her too his chest once more, looking over her head at the yard down below. Winterfell, repaired and working. Just like his childhood, and his mother and father’s before that. He could see it now, as clearly as surly Bran did in his visions.

A future here. His sons training in the yard and his girls running through the halls. And the lot of them sneaking into the kennels and climbing the walls like their Uncle Bran, the not quite consort, told them he use to do as a child. 

“I think it's the perfect match.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](http://darkmagyk.tumblr.com/).


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